


All Things in Due Time

by CarolineShea



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-07 19:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11065740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolineShea/pseuds/CarolineShea
Summary: A Glee/Timer fusion. Wearing a piece of technology on your wrist that directs you to your soulmate (your 'One') seems like it should make finding love easier than ever. Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel come to realize that each solution comes with its own set of problems, and that the things that really matter in life are the things you fight for.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, and welcome! I would first like to say that you do NOT have to have seen the movie TiMER for this to make sense (although you should if you can, because it is truly excellent and moved me to tears.) 
> 
> This is basically my take on the Soulmate trope. I have had the pleasure of reading so many beautiful Soulmate fics these last few years, and they brought up so many questions for me -- about the nature of love and romance, about fate and predestination, about free will. Can I claim to address all of these issues intelligently in this fic? No way. But I *think* I have an interesting journey to take these boys (and some familiar friends) on in this fic, and I really hope some of you will come along for the ride. :)
> 
> Please enjoy!

_Prologue_

 

The footage is grainy and pixelated; the video had been captured on a low-resolution camera phone by a person whose hands were shaking with adrenaline.

The poor image quality makes it no less affecting for the tens of millions of YouTube viewers who have seen it -- in fact, it imbues the three-minute video clip with both suspense and urgency. The anxiety of the videographer can be sensed as the screen shakes and shudders; and while the smoke clouding the air makes the footage appear blurrier, it pulls the viewer in as they, too, strain their eyes to make out the unfolding drama through the murky haze.  
   
It starts out with a wide shot of the building's exterior -- a mid-rise apartment building, shown with smoke billowing from the windows and the low flicker of yellow-orange flames visible on the top two floors. A dim cacophony of sirens, shouts, and whispered swear words can be heard in the background.  
   
The image swivels suddenly, as though the filming bystander has only just noticed something out of the corner of his or her eye, and after a few seconds of blurred disorientation, the angle changes and the video focuses in on the building's front door. For a few seconds, it's hard to tell what's happening -- movement of some kind, definitely -- and then something, or perhaps more than one something, emerges from the blaze.  
   
The camera zooms in closer and the barely-discernible shapes on the screen coalesce into identifiable figures. Two firefighters have exited the building; the first one runs across the lawn, shouting and gesticulating furiously toward someone before rushing out of frame. The second firefighter moves more slowly, his movements hindered by the weight of what appears to be a person draped over his shoulder.  
   
Three paramedics rush into the foreground with a stretcher; they are accompanied by the first firefighter. The second firefighter adjusts the clearly unconscious person -- a woman; that is obvious now, even under the soot and grime -- into a front-carry before carefully depositing her still form onto the stretcher.  
   
The firefighter's shoulders slump as soon as he sets her down. He waves off the lone paramedic who approaches him and reaches up to remove the oxygen mask from his face. His features are difficult to distinguish, but it's possible to see that he's quite young and that his skin is a rich coffee-brown.  
   
A sharp buzz of sound emanates from just off-screen and the camera angle changes again, focusing on the woman on the stretcher who is starting to come around. She coughs once; a short, hacking rasp that causes the first paramedic to steady her and pat her back as the second paramedic readies her oxygen mask. The young firefighter enters the frame and she struggles to sit up even as the paramedic next to her gently stills her.  
   
"You -- you saved me," she wheezes as the screen tilts to an odd angle. "Oh my god, how -- how can I ever -- ?"  
   
The firefighter ducks his head bashfully before looking up to meet the eyes of the woman he'd rescued for the first time. The sound volume has to be turned up all the way to hear him; his speech is still barely decipherable. "Don't thank me, miss," he murmurs. "I'm just glad you're -- "  
   
High-pitched beeping cuts off his sentence; a loud, insistent tone with no visible source.  
   
The firefighter turns around in alarm to check his oxygen tank and the paramedics spring into action, examining their equipment for malfunctions or abnormalities, but the video stays in place, still and unwavering for once. It is focused closely on the woman who is staring down in shock at her wrist -- as her Timer flashes and beeps -- something she knows it will only do once, and on a very specific occasion:  
   
When she has met her One.  
   
The firefighter turns back around and the woman holds her wrist out toward him, the other hand pressed shakily to her mouth as she bites back a sob. Her Timer blinks and beeps, and the firefighter draws in a sharp breath. Without a second's pause he begins yanking off his right glove, struggling with the thick material before throwing it to the ground and pulling up the filthy, soot-blackened sleeve of his uniform jacket.  
   
The footage doesn't provide a clear enough picture to make out what he sees on his wrist, but the insistent beeping is unmistakable for anything other than his Timer device. A second later the light reflects off what _could_ be a glint of silver and the firefighter looks up at the woman again, locking eyes with her as their Timers continue to chime.  
   
He takes two steps toward her until he's next to her, blocking her from the camera's gaze --  
   
\-- before letting out a hoarse-sounding cry and falling to his knees in front of her.  
   
Now hers is the only face seen, and although it's hard to make out her expression given the grainy quality of the image, each viewer can precisely _imagine_ how she must look as she touches a hand to the face of her One for the first time.  
   
He says something to her, although it isn't clear what, and she either laughs or cries in response; all that's audible is the muffled sound of her voice and all that's visible is the set of her shoulders as they shake. The camera zooms out, as though the person filming it is loath to bear witness to this most intimate of moments, and there is a dizzying, three-second shot of the grass and the videographer's shoes before the screen fades to black.

  
   
   
0000  
   
0000

  
   
   
The video clip went viral about a week after it aired.  
   
It garnered nearly sixty-five million YouTube hits, and although there are literally thousands of videos of couples whose Timers 'zeroed out' together -- all of them deeply moving -- years later, this remains one of the most popular.  
   
Sixteen-year-old Blaine Anderson of Westerville, Ohio, has it ranked very highly among his Timer video bookmarks.  
   
It's one he can watch over and over again; it's right up there with the video of the police officer meeting her One when she pulls him over for speeding, or that hilarious clip with the 'platonic' friends who get Timers implanted together for a laugh and discover that they aren't quite as platonic as they thought, or the young soldier who disembarks his plane after a long tour in Kuwait and zeroes out with his pregnant girlfriend, who had acquired a Timer in his absence, right there in the airport. That last one is just _beautiful_ ; the beeping of the Timers is just barely audible over the couple's joyful laughter and the delighted exclamations of the people around them.  
   
But not all the Timer stories in the videos have happy endings.  
   
One young couple, on the cusp of becoming engaged, decided to take the final step in confirming their compatibility. They hire a videographer, eager to capture the joyful moment of zeroing out together. It's hard to tell which is worse -- the stunned devastation on the man's face or the frightening blankness on the woman's -- when their newly-implanted Timers start alternate countdowns.  
   
There's one that shows a doctor zeroing out with the terminal cancer patient he's meeting for the first time. Blaine thinks he'd gone through half a box of tissues on that one alone, and he'd gone to bed sobbing, just _praying_ to whatever deities might exist that he and his One would get to live a long and healthy life together.

There's also an absolutely heartbreaking video that almost nobody can get through without crying: black-and-white security footage of two young Israeli military prison guards opening a gate to escort five Palestinian prisoners to their cells. There is no sound to the video, so all it shows is a few tense seconds where both guards defensively draw their Glock 17s and the prisoners stop dead in their tracks with their hands up, everyone looking around the room and apparently reacting to an unheard noise -- the sound of two Timers chiming plaintively. The guard and the prisoner realize it a split-second before everyone else does. The two young men lock eyes, a look of dawning comprehension and horror passing over both of them as the gun starts trembling in the guard's hands. The second guard scrambles to control the situation, quickly barking orders at the group of prisoners and ordering them all through the gate at gunpoint. He gives the first guard's arm a rough shake as he passes, clearly telling him to _get it together._ The first guard is left alone, staring blankly at the gate in front of him before quietly lowering his head in his still-shaking hands as the video fades out. 

No one knows who leaked the footage and there's definitely debate online: _Is it fake? Was it staged?_ Regardless, Blaine has only been able to watch it once.  
   
Blaine has amassed quite a collection of favorites throughout the years, and on tonight of all nights he finds himself re-watching them. He sits up in bed, his handsome young face lit strangely by the dull-bronze glow of his laptop, and he drags the scroll-bar of the firefighter video back to the 2:06 mark -- the first second the woman's Timer goes off. He watches it again, drinking in the sight of that beautiful moment, his gaze drawn equally to the flashing device on her wrist and the stunned expression on her face.  
   
Blaine's own heart speeds up as he thinks _tomorrow, tomorrow_ and almost without his volition he finds himself doing it: rotating his right wrist slightly and allowing the fingers of his left hand to follow the familiar path -- ducking under his pajama sleeve, dipping into the hollow of his right wrist, and passing over the unmarked skin there.  
   
Unmarked for _one_ more day. Just one.  
 

 


	2. A Time to Learn

  
   
   
September 30, 2010  
   
   
   
Blaine Anderson has spent 12,150.6 hours, or 729,036 minutes, of his young life in an educational setting of some kind.  
   
Of those minutes, 62,388 have been spent in high school, 36,872 have been spent at Dalton Academy in Westerville, Ohio, and thirty-three of them have been spent trying not to fall asleep during today's Society and Ethics lecture.  
   
Blaine discreetly scratches at an itch near his elbow, a spot difficult to access through the thick wool of his blazer, and wishes fervently that Ms. Townsend would allow the students to take their jackets off in the classroom as some of the more lenient faculty members do. The unseasonably warm September afternoon and the bulky layers of the uniforms, combined with Dalton's no-air-conditioning-in-the-fall policy, are making for a sweltering learning experience at the moment.  
   
"...and the prototype of the modern Timer was invented in what Japanese city, Mr. Corrigan?” asks Ms. Townsend, rounding suddenly on the half-asleep red-head in the fourth row.  
   
Blaine exchanges a quick glance with his friend Wes, both of them biting their lips to keep from grinning. If Philip Corrigan had actually completed the reading, it would be nothing short of astonishing.  
   
True to form, Philip shifts uncomfortably in his seat and clears his throat. “Uh… Tokyo?”  
   
Ms. Townsend’s answering sigh can probably be heard in the next classroom. “As a year’s worth of Society and Ethics classes, last night’s reading assignment, and the most recent twenty minutes of this lecture have attempted to instill in you -- _Kyoto_ would be the correct answer, Mr. Corrigan.”  
   
Philip mutters something under his breath before sinking back into his usual class-induced torpor.  
   
Ms. Townsend advances toward Blaine’s side of the classroom, each step punctuated with an authoritative _clack_ of her high heels. “And can anyone tell me which two countries were the next to import and utilize the technology?”  
   
Wes raises his hand.  
   
She closes her eyes, undoubtedly praying for patience. “Anyone aside from Mr. Montgomery?”  
   
A sea of blank-faced, blue-blazered boys stares back at her. Ms. Townsend sighs again and nods grudgingly toward Wes.  
   
“India and Indonesia,” he replies promptly.  
   
“And in what year did the technology expand to Europe?”  
   
Despite himself, Blaine finds his attention starting to drift as well. He will never understand how a subject as fascinating as Timers can be made to sound so deadly _dull_ in school.  
   
"Who can tell me," asks Ms. Townsend, slowly revolving around the rows of desks, "the age at which a person is deemed old enough for Timer-implantation in the United States?"  
   
Several hands go up. The answer is common knowledge to these boys and to the whole country, pretty much.  
   
"Mr. Lippincott?" she says, inclining her head toward a blond boy named Cole who sits two rows behind Blaine.  
   
"High school," Cole says quickly. "As soon as you enter high school." He flashes his own wrist, on which the silver glint of a blank Timer can be seen peeking out from beneath his sleeve.  
   
Ms. Townsend nods curtly. "A person certainly _can_ receive a Timer upon entering high school, provided that they have what?"  
   
"Parental consent," mutters Myles Barrett darkly.  
   
Blaine turns to his left and exchanges a quick, commiserative grimace with the boy seated three desks down from him. It's well-known that he and Myles are the only two boys in the classroom whose parents have withheld their consent for the procedure. Myles has it way worse than Blaine, too; his parents have point-blank refused to let him get a Timer until he's eighteen. Non-negotiable.  
   
"You will refrain from calling out in my classroom, Mr. Barrett," says Ms. Townsend briskly, "although your answer is correct, and your displeasure is hereby noted."  
   
The boys chuckle lightly and Ms. Townsend gives the class a rare smile.  
   
"Now those are the federal regulations," she tells them. "Each state has additional stipulations regarding age and Timer-eligibility, Ohio being no exception. Implementing these restrictions and exceptions is an important function of the Ohio Department of Health, but it's an incredibly complicated system and I admit I'd be quite surprised to find that any of you have researched--"  
   
Her voice breaks off suddenly.  
   
"Yes, Mr. Anderson?" she says, her sharp eyes narrowing in on his raised hand.  
   
Blaine closes his eyes. "The State of Ohio," he says, taking a deep breath and reciting from memory, "allows Timers to be implanted when an individual has reached high school or attained the age of fifteen, whichever occurs first. In the rare case that a student entering high school has not yet reached the age of thirteen, the student's parents are obliged to petition the court for an early implantation, which will be granted or denied on a case-by-case basis."  
   
Blaine takes a quick breath and continues, ignoring the bemused stares of his classmates.  
   
"An individual under the age of eighteen wishing to be fitted with a Timer must have the permission of a parent or legal guardian. Exceptions are granted infrequently to sixteen and seventeen year olds who fill out the appropriate forms and appear at Probate Court. The minor in question must provide the court with a variety of evidence, including but not limited to school records, driving records, and character witnesses who will testify as to the maturity of the applicant."  
   
Ms. Townsend blinks. "That's... goodness. That is exceptional research, Mr. Anderson."  
   
Blaine thinks of the completed paperwork, tucked away in a brown file-folder in the fourth drawer of his bedroom desk, ready to be mailed out the _second_ he even so much as suspects his parents will renege on their promise.  
   
Blaine shrugs his shoulders delicately and inclines his head a fraction, the very picture of modesty. "Thank you," he replies.  
   
Myles catches his gaze and gives him a knowing look, which Blaine ignores. He fidgets at his desk, tapping his right foot against the linoleum soundlessly while he tries not to think about the fact that his brother Cooper is supposed to be boarding his flight in ten minutes.  
   
The operative words in that sentence are 'supposed to be,' because _god_ knows Cooper has canceled on Blaine enough times in the past. But this is different; this _has_ to be different. Blaine needs him.  
   
To be honest, Cooper is simply the latest in the long string of excuses his parents have concocted for pushing back Blaine's meeting with the Matchmaker. When Blaine had asked if he could be fitted with a Timer during freshman year his parents had demurred, promising that they would revisit the topic once Blaine's first report card came back. When Blaine's report card had come back with straight A's, his mother had reluctantly agreed that they would set up the meeting after the new year. Then the Sadie Hawkins incident and Blaine's subsequent transfer to Dalton had halted the process again, with his father telling him that he should wait until he was more settled.  
   
In March, Blaine had calmly pointed out that achieving high marks in every class, being elected vice-president of the debate team, and being named lead soloist of the Warblers surely indicated that Blaine was _settled_. His parents had had nothing to say to that -- other than to put forth the ridiculous stipulation that Cooper should be there for it, that it would _mean so much to darling Cooper to be there when his baby brother gets his Timer._  
   
Blaine can't imagine that Cooper really cares one way or another, especially considering that Cooper doesn't even have a Timer. Despite the fact that nearly all of Cooper's friends from high school and college have been fitted with them, and despite the fact that Cooper has friends who have met and gotten married by now because of their Timers, Cooper's right wrist remains stubbornly blank.  
   
"I have not yet learned," Cooper will say in that ridiculous, overwrought tone of his, "all that the human experience intends to teach me." Which is Cooper's way of saying that he's not done sleeping around. Actually, it's worse than that -- it's Cooper's way of saying that he doesn't even want to know _when_ he'll have to stop sleeping around.  
   
Blaine has never heard his parents pressure Cooper to get a Timer, but he has also never heard them speaking against the idea, which is telling. Blane is pretty sure that has less to do with Cooper's age -- or maturity-level, because there's little doubt which of the Anderson brothers would be taking home that prize -- and more to do with the fact that Cooper's One will be a woman.  
   
And Blaine's One will most definitely not be.  
   
Blaine has known he was gay since he was thirteen, though he'd had suspicions long before then, and he'd come out to his parents halfway through eighth grade.  
   
It hadn't gone well.  
   
He'd blurted it out at an admittedly inopportune time, his parents had been very taken aback and had reacted badly, and although there have since been apologies and retractions offered by each of the three Andersons involved, Blaine feels as though they've never quite regained the ground they'd lost during that initial fight. The things they'd said to one another had been raw and vicious. And honest. That's the trouble; _that's_ what's keeping them from moving forward. Saying, "Oh, no, I never meant any of that," isn't helpful when... well, when you actually _did_.  
   
He's sure that their reluctance to allow him to get a Timer stems from their dislike of his sexual orientation, and the fact that they'd asked him to wait for Cooper simply confirms Blaine's hypothesis. It's a stalling tactic, basically, seeing as how Cooper is never around; he lives in Los Angeles and he visits Ohio as infrequently as possible. If his parents had been hoping to prolong things significantly though, they'd obviously underestimated Blaine's tenacity. After five solid months of Blaine calling and begging Cooper to come to Westerville, his older brother had been worn down.  
   
Cooper's flight should be touching down at Port Columbus International Airport in about three hours.  
   
   
   
0000  
   
0000  
   
0000  
   
 

  
Were Blaine in any class other than Society and Ethics, he might chance taking his cell phone out. It would be sheer madness to try it with Ms. Townsend's hawk-sharp eyes trained in his general direction, but his fingers still itch to pull the phone from the confines of his pocket and check it for updates from Cooper. Even just the simplest text, a quick ' _on_ _plane_ ' or _'c_ _u_ _2nite_ , bro,' would go a long way toward settling Blaine's nerves.  
   
Blaine reaches into the left pocket of his blazer and curls his fingers around his phone, sliding the cool plastic weight of it against his palm. Getting fitted with a Timer is nerve-wracking enough on its own. On top of that, he has to contend with Cooper's long-established tendency to _flake_ when it comes to anything Blaine-related. Or family-related. Or anything not, you know, directly and centrally Cooper-related.  
  __  
But he won't this time, Blaine tells himself. _He's my brother and I've **told** him how important this is to me_.  
   
And it _is_ important to Blaine, for reasons that are difficult for him to articulate to his parents. For all that Blaine is well-liked at Dalton, there isn't any one person with whom he feels especially close or comfortable. It's not that Blaine thinks he couldn't get a boyfriend if he tried -- he's cute enough, he supposes, and he suspects he'd be a reasonably fun date -- but what he's really looking for is a best friend, which is essentially what the Timer claims to offer.  
   
His perfect match.  
   
Someone who will complement him in every conceivable category: Emotionally. Physically. Romantically. Intellectually. Sexually.  
   
Just possessing the thought that somewhere in this wide and lonely world there exists a man who will be all of these things for Blaine is indescribable. And the idea that Blaine, who is indisputably a people-pleaser, can be all of these things for someone else is like a balm to his soul.  
   
Blaine has spent a good potion of his short life feeling like a disappointment to the people he cares about. He can't even explain what it means to him to know that there is someone out there for whom Blaine will _always_ be good enough, just by virtue of being himself. It can happen in five years. It can happen in ten or fifteen or twenty (he hopes not twenty) and that's okay. It's _good_ , even, because it will give Blaine the time he needs to grow and learn and become the perfect partner he's meant to be. But it's just --  
   
He wants to know.  
   
He wants to know when it will happen, yes, but more importantly he wants to know that it _will_ happen, period.  
   
Blaine sighs and lets go of the phone.  
   
If it's any consolation to him, it seems that it will be happening for a lot of the young men in the room. He scans the rows of students, ticking off a mental checklist as he passes over each desk:  
   
Andrew Ryder-Mills has six years to go.  
   
Hayden Szerwinski has twelve years to go.  
   
Cole Lippincott's is blank -- which most likely means that his One is too young to get a Timer, but could mean that she has elected not to get one.  
   
Noah Levin has eight years to go.  
   
Blaine's good friend David Booker has six years to go.  
   
Jakub LaPorte has _thirty-three_ years to go, which Blaine can't even begin to fathom. He would be devastated to find that he had to wait that long to meet his One. Blaine doesn't know Jakub well, but he knows he has a steady girlfriend, so he's obviously choosing not to let his future impact his present.  
   
Ashton Penn and Harrison Knox are sitting next to each other in the third row. They're best friends and Blaine can actually never keep their countdowns straight. One has nine years to go and the other... significantly higher, Blaine's pretty sure.  
   
Blaine sweeps his eyes over the next row.  
   
Philip Corrigan has eleven years to go. Alex Forrester's is blank, and so are Andrew Newport's and Jordan Delmont's.

Myles Barrett doesn't have one. Wes, Blaine's closest friend at Dalton, has a little less than 2900 days, or 7.9 years, to go. He'll be twenty-three years old when he meets his One.  
   
Next to Wes, two seats down from Blaine, is Sean Hirst. Sean is a nice guy. He's average-looking in Blaine's estimation, he's a goalie for the lacrosse team, he's an adequate student if not a particularly motivated one, and he would be really utterly unremarkable if not for the simple fact that he is the _only_ underclassman in the entire school whose Timer has zeroed out.  
   
It had made Sean an instant object of fascination at Dalton, and he'd been forced to recount the tale of meeting his One last spring over and over. Between the thrilling tale itself, which had taken place while the two were standing in line for soft pretzels at the mall, and the fact that he'd zeroed out with an _older woman_ (fourteen months older, and a whole grade above him), Sean's popularity at Dalton had risen considerably.

Blaine is in the midst of straining his eyes to look at Sean's Timer more closely when Ms. Townsend suddenly turns her back to the class to write on the blackboard.

Panicked though he is at the idea of crossing Ms. Townsend, Blaine seizes the opportunity anyway. He quickly pulls his phone out of his pocket and drops it into his messenger bag. She turns around a half-second later and Blaine rifles through his bag as surreptitiously as he can, pretending to be searching for a pen but actually typing in his phone's passcode. And --

There it is.

_Cooper: About to go into Airplane Mode. This plane smells like ass and Mom's making something with carbs for dinner even though I sent her all those Paleo recipes last week. You owe me big time._

Blaine's heart practically leaps out of his chest as he reads these words. He schools his features into as neutral an expression as he can manage, which is hard when he's feeling so overcome by just how pathetically, _stupidly_ grateful he is for Cooper to be coming through for him. He takes a deep breath and even remembers to actually take a pen out of his bag, relieved that Ms. Townsend doesn't seem to have noticed anything amiss.

The last twenty-five minutes of class crawl agonizingly by, and Blaine is forced to remind himself that the two most likely outcomes of tonight -- a blank Timer or a Timer with a multi-year or even multi-decade countdown -- mean that he'll need to learn to cultivate some serious patience.

The second the bell rings, Blaine bolts up out of his seat, bursting to tell Wes and David that Cooper is actually _really_ on his way. The look in Blaine's eyes is probably enough to confirm what's happening, but just as Wes opens his mouth --

"A moment of your time, please, Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine whips his head around quickly to look at Ms. Townsend, who is studiously looking at her laptop and not even bothering to make eye contact with Blaine.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asks nervously.

"That truly was exceptional research you've conducted on the implementation of Timers in the state of Ohio."

"Thank you," Blaine says automatically.

"I would hate," she says slowly and deliberately, "to think that someone as bright and talented as you would be failing to enjoy the present because he's so focused on the future."

Blaine's voice utterly fails to conceal his surprise. Ms. Townsend is absolutely _not_ the sort of teacher to encourage her students to confide in her, or who seems to place a premium on the emotional well-being of her pupils. "No, ma'am," he says quickly. "I won't. I mean I _don't_. I mean, I -- I try not to."

"Good," she says succinctly. She takes a careful sip of her coffee, still staring at her computer and not at him. "Well then. All that's left to say is that the _very_ next time you check your mobile device during my lecture, I will confiscate it and read the most interesting of your text messages aloud for entertainment at the next faculty meeting."

Blaine feels his chest deflate. He attempts to give her the most charmingly sheepish grin he can muster, which proves pointless as she isn't even looking in his direction. He utters a meek little, "Yes, Ms. Townsend," and turns toward the room's exit. The look he, Wes, and David are all giving each other as they open the classroom door is virtually identical:

_Damn. She's **good**._

 

 

 

 


End file.
